Rise of a Legend (Guardian of Scotland Book 1) (10 page)

William sat beside Eva and read his psalter, something he often did to make sense of the world around him. The memory of his own brutality troubled him—deeply troubled. Amidst the fever of battle, he could be as ruthless as Edward Plantagenet himself.
But who else will take a stand against these tyrants?

At least Eva could rest peacefully there in his private alcove of the cave. He’d never allowed anyone inside this space, but he’d brought her there because of her gender, not because…

William shook his head and read Psalm Eighty-eight—a favorite—one about his soul being in the depths of a pit. When he rescued Eva from Lanark, his soul had soared with the stars. But now doubt clutched his heart with iron gauntlets. How could he have allowed the woman to grow close? She’d shown him kindness in the wee hours one night and he’d assumed they had made a bond. And now it would be yet another black mark on his soul if she didn’t wake.

When he finished reading, his gaze slid to the rectangular object that had fallen out of her pocket when he removed her doublet. Devil’s spawn, the thing lit up without a fire when he grasped it. He tensed. Even Eva’s doublet was not from this world. It possessed a metal tab that ran up and down a track, fastening and unfastening as if by magic. How he hadn’t noticed the abnormality before, he couldn’t fathom.

A sorceress
.

William had never had dealings with a witch, but Eva appeared to defy all the rumors spewed about them. She certainly wasn’t capable of saving herself from Heselrig, nor would she have escaped Fail Monastery alive if he hadn’t arrived when he did.

His gaze slid to the worn leather satchel she had slung over her shoulder when he found her at Lanark. She definitely didn’t have that before she’d been abducted by Heselrig—and in no way could Wallace imagine the sheriff giving it to her.

Did she come in contact with someone else?

William desperately wanted to believe she had been given the bag by a passerby, but it seemed so unlikely.
Could she have met another of her kind?
A sorcerer?
He shuddered.
A Devil worshiper?

He had noticed her boots before. Carefully, he unlaced them and removed each one. Thick soles with grooves that would provide good traction for certain, but once again, they were not of this world. The soles weren’t made of leather or wood. He ran his thumb over the back of the heel. The material had pliability to it, and inside, the sole was spongy. He turned the boot over in his hand and sniffed.
She’d said these were waterproof, yet they’ve not been immersed in fat.

The satchel stared at him like a calculating serpent. Had she witches potions within? William couldn’t remember ever being afraid of anything in his life. He was a warrior. He ran into battle when others fled, and by the grace of God, he would fear nothing from this witch.

With a growl, he snatched the satchel and unfastened the buckles. Taking a deep breath, he quickly threw back the flap, ready to face any apparition that sprang out. When nothing untoward happened, he inclined the opening toward the candle and peered inside.

He reached in and pulled out another bag, pink in color, hewn of a foreign, iridescent material. This, too, had the fastener with the metal tab. Dreading what he might find inside, he opened it. Oddly, he recognized a few items—a hairbrush and another that might be used to clean one’s teeth. He picked up the hairbrush and examined it. Indeed, the materials were a quandary. He placed his finger on a rounded point, surprised when it didn’t prick him. The center of the brush was pillow soft, entwined with Eva’s red tresses.

To his dismay, small vials of potions were tossed haphazardly inside, as if they wouldn’t break. William held one up. Though the writing was bold and blocked—nothing like the script he’d seen used throughout Christendom—he thought he recognized the letters. “Sh-am-poo.”
Whatever does it mean?

He tugged on the stopper, to no avail, but it twisted beneath his thumb. Curious, he turned it again and again until the stopper pulled all the way off.
Amazing, yet so entirely alien
. Holding the vial to his nose, he sniffed. A pleasing fragrance of honey mixed with flowers—not a repugnant-smelling potion he’d expect from a witch. Still, the scent was so heavenly, it couldn’t be of this world.

William didn’t know what to make of any of it. That Eva was a witch was certain. He fingered the hilt of his dirk. Practicing sorcery was strictly forbidden by the church, punishable by burning. What havoc could she run with his men?
I should kill her now while she’s still sleeping. That would be the most compassionate way to dispatch the lass
.

But William didn’t draw his knife. He glanced at her face and then to the items scattered about him. He needed no more evidence of her guilt. The satchel and its contents must be burned, and when, or if Eva awoke, he’d send her away. He’d been a fool to take her in and clothe her.

“Where am I?”

William jolted. Things might have been easier if she’d passed away in slumber. “We’re back at the cave,” he grumbled. In no way would he mention Leglen Wood.

Her eyes peered open with a flash of green. “My head feels like it’s been bludgeoned.”

His gut clamped. She wouldn’t be charming him ever again. “I’m surprised a witch can feel pain.”

She pressed her palms to her temples. “What are you talking about?”

William held up the most incriminating evidence of all. “This, this
thing
lit up without fire when it fell from your doublet.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Blasphemy!” He drew back. “So it is true, ye do worship the devil and practice sorcery?”

She sat up and swayed, holding her hand to her head. “No. I am a Christian. I’m sorry, my head is pounding so hard I can’t think straight.”

“Mayhap because I have uncorked your beguiling floral potion. I can still smell its wiles in my nostrils.”

Her gaze trailed to the satchel. “You looked in my bag? That’s my personal stuff.”

“Aye? It became my duty to look inside when that
object
lit up like a streak of lightning.”

She reached for the vial he’d opened and twisted the stopper. “This is not a potion. It is shampoo, used for washing hair—
ye ken
, scrubbing my tresses. The scent lingers and smells nice.”

“A hair tonic it may verra well be, but nothing about ye is of this world. Your doublet fastens with magic, the soles of your shoes are not of leather or wood, or any material I’ve ever seen. Even that vial of sh-am-poo must be hewn by a sorceress’ hand.”

“Ugh.” Eva rubbed her head. “You weren’t supposed to look in my satchel.”

He straightened. “So ye admit to being a witch?”

“No.” She groaned and looked up, dragging her fingers through her hair. “I am not a witch. I promised you that before.”

“Then explain all this.” He gestured to the contents spread before them. “And ye’d best do it quickly, else I’ll have no choice but to burn these things and ye along with them.”

Gasping, she scooted aside. “No, please. I-I-I just don’t know how to tell you. If I do, I might…” Her gaze trailed away.

“Ye might?” William didn’t know if he wanted to hear more.

She took a deep breath and cringed. “Look, that thing that lit up? It’s a telephone. People in my time use it to communicate when at long distances.” Eva, glanced left and right with fear in her eyes, as if she expected someone to spring from the walls and seize her.

William had heard enough. Standing in a crouch so not to hit his head, he yanked his dirk from its scabbard. “
Your
time? Ye speak with a devil’s tongue.”

Eva held her palms in front of her mouth. “Just wait a minute. Before you haul off and cut out my tongue, sit your ass down and allow me to explain.”

How dare she speak to him with such insolence? He hesitated. No woman had ever spoken to him thus. He should not allow it.

She swatted the fur beside her. “Sit.”

Growling, he shoved his dirk back in its sheath. “I’ll listen, but if ye lift a finger against me, I’ll slit your throat afore ye can draw your next breath.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Eva smoothed her fingers over her throat and waited for him to sit. “You are right. My things are not from your era, but they
are
from this world.”

He gave her a leery stare. And to think earlier he’d grown to believe her tale of woe.

She placed her palm atop his hand. “Please hear me out. But first promise you will not strike out rashly at what I am about to say.”

He didn’t like it, but she had a right to make her peace. Though he couldn’t make any promises about how he’d respond once she’d finished. He snatched his hand away and rubbed off the beguiling sensation of her soft touch. “Go on.”

***

Staring at her with the most intense blue eyes she’d ever seen, Eva had no doubt William would take her life if she couldn’t make him believe her story. But for some reason she didn’t panic. She almost felt calm. After pulling the medallion from beneath her shift, she translated the inscription in her head:
Truth is like a beacon…but few choose to follow
.

No matter what his medieval mind chose to believe, she could no longer lie to William Wallace.

She took the medallion off and handed it to him, searching for words he would clearly understand. “A professor—an expert in thirteenth and fourteenth century antiquity gave me that after we had a discussion about reporting the truth. You see, I am a historical journalist—a
chronicler
from the twenty-first century. I was born six-hundred and ninety-nine years in the future, in the year of our Lord nineteen eighty-eight.”

“That canna—”

She held up her hand to stop him. “I know what you’re going to say, but you can’t possibly imagine the inventions and progress that have occurred in seven hundred years.” She reached for her phone. “Honestly, I have no idea how I ended up here, but it has something to do with that medallion and the fact that I have researched your life and deeply desire to know more about you.”

“My life?”

She sighed. “You do become a great man, one who…ah…” Walter’s warning echoed in her head. “I can say no more about that.”

He nodded.

“I have pledged an oath not to change the past.” She bit the inside of her cheek. “I think that’s why I was allowed to return.”

“To return?”

“Yes.” She had so much to say and yet needed to be careful with every word. “In the torture chamber, Heselrig wanted to know your name. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to tell, because I knew you were going to kill him—regardless if I was there or not.” She couldn’t help but delve into the stories. “But honestly, no one knew the real reason for your attack on the Sheriff of Lanark. A man named Blind Harry, who lived in the fifteenth century, wrote that you were married to a woman named Marion Braidfute, and that Heselrig murdered her—not your father.”

“Me? Married? I’ve never met a woman named Marion Braidfute.” He knitted his eyebrows. “From Lanark?”

Eva nodded. “There is no proof of her birth, though she would have been from a noble family with holdings in Lanark. She was said to be the heiress of Lamington.”

“’Tis preposterous,” he snorted. “How on earth could a lowborn man marry an heiress?”

“Many historians questioned exactly that…and then there was the quandary of your paternity. Because Harry quoted your birthplace as Ellerslie—”

“Which it was.”

“True, but history got it wrong and assumed the poet meant Elderslie in Renfrewshire.”

“Bah. What did they have right?” he grumbled sarcastically.

“You did brutally kill the Sheriff of Lanark—and other events of which I cannot disclose.” Eva took a deep breath, relieved that he appeared to be willing to listen before he killed her. And thinking of that, she snatched the medallion and put it back around her neck just to be safe. “Anyway, I’ve veered too far away from what happened in the jail. When I tried to tell Heselrig your name, blackness engulfed me and I was flung back to my time. I thought it wouldn’t hurt to disclose your identity to him, but I was obviously mistaken—though I still cannot understand why.”

He scratched his head. “Is that where ye obtained the satchel? I ken ye didna have it afore ye were captured.”

“Yes. I collected a few comforts from my time and then headed back to the Fail Monastery ruins.”

“Ruins?” he groaned and rolled his eyes to the alcove’s ceiling. “This is all preposterous.”

She held up her phone. Showing him was a huge risk, but the pictures would provide undeniable proof. When she pushed the on button, William jerked away. She gave him a pointed look. “I bring no sorcery, no evil. This simply holds a glimpse into the future.”

He pulled back as if he were about to be burned. “I dunna believe ye. ’Tis witchcraft hailing the future.”

“No. It is pure unadulterated fact.” After finding the picture of the sunrise over the ruins, she held it up. “My phone has a camera with which I can take pictures—it’s like an artist drawing an image of a scene at a certain point in time. It never changes once the picture is taken or drawn.”